


lighted streets, distant stars, brilliant snow

by Knightblazer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s05e13 The Song Remains the Same, Frottage, M/M, Season/Series 05, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many ways to mourn the passing of a close friend, and Dean shows him how. Set after 5.13 'The Song Remains The Same'. (Written for the 2011 <a href="http://deancas-xmas.livejournal.com/">deancas_xmas</a> exchange on Livejournal.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	lighted streets, distant stars, brilliant snow

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [verizonhorizon](http://verizonhorizon.livejournal.com/) in the 2011 [deancas_xmas](http://deancas-xmas.livejournal.com/) exchange; this one has been corrected further for other mistakes and typos. Once again, major thanks to both [tawg](http://tawg.livejournal.com/) and my internet twin Michele for taking the time and effort to beta this for me.

_The first time he set foot upon Earth, Castiel remembers the snow._

 _“Charming weather,” he hears Balthazar remark dryly beside him, but Castiel doesn't pay attention to his brother's voice; he's too entranced by the sleet of white that's covered this world, caught by the way the sunlight gleams off its surface and colors play across the beam of light, colors that would later be called by different names by the humans._

 _Castiel raises one hand, watching the snowflakes drift down from the sky and land on his arm. He blinks once when they evaporate almost instantly with a hiss of steam the moment the frozen flakes make contact with his Grace; an act that is not surprising. Lowering his hand the angel raises his head, unblinking as he watches the snowflakes continue to fall, not caring for their momentary existence, their beauty that lasts for as long as the flare of a dying star._

 _Anael laughs quietly in front of them as she drifts idly, her hands attempting to catch the snow with little success. Little tufts of steam hiss across her body as the flakes touch upon her Grace, melting almost instantly. Anael doesn't seem to mind however, pausing to look up at the sky as well with a wistful smile on her face. “Isn't it beautiful?” he remembers her breathing out, and he recalls the awe and wonder in her voice._

 _Uriel shifts from Castiel's other side, his own head raised as well. “All of our Father's creations are beautiful,” he returns, and Castiel remembers how simple things had been then, for all of them. Before the Fall, before the separation, before the absence of their Father and before the Apocalypse. Back then there had only been joy and the simple happiness of singing to their Father, the Father who created them and cared for them and they had no love for anything else but Him._

 _Balthazar snorts at the three of them, wry amusement in his voice as he speaks. “Hate to break up the sudden lovefest, but I believe that we came down here for a reason.”_

 _“That doesn't mean we can't take a moment to enjoy our Father's work,” Anael returns with a pout, but starts to move all the same. Uriel does likewise, leaving him alone and standing still in the snow, as he watches the flakes continue to fall._

 _“Castiel!” he hears Balthazar calling, and the angel lowers his head to blink at the amused look that is on his brother's face. “We haven't got all day, Cassie. You can sightsee all you want later.”_

 _He feels Anael's amusement and Uriel's exasperation as Balthazar says those words, but they both smile as Castiel nods and start to catch up with them, wings beating loudly against the falling snow._

* * *

  
Loss was something that Castiel was familiar with, in his countless years of existence. He had felt loss when he saw the Fall happen, had felt the pain of losing a third of his brothers and sisters as they fell with the fallen Morningstar and saw as they shaped Hell for their own purposes. He mourned all those who had fought and died, quietly grieved for the ones who died under Uriel’s traitorous blade and had wept for the betrayal Uriel had orchestrated and when he had died. Uriel had been a brother and a comrade, but in the end he had betrayed him, betrayed Heaven and betrayed himself for Lucifer, so Castiel could only mourn his passing alone (the Host, of course, did not, after having learned of Uriel’s treachery) and eventually move on.

Anna, though.

Loss was something that Castiel was familiar with, but up until Anna’s passing he had not felt it as keenly as he did now. Anna had been—Anna had been important. She had been his commander, confidant, friend and helper all in one. She was the one who allowed him his chance to prove himself useful to the garrison, letting him use his mind where his strength failed him. She had been the one to encourage him with his plans and tactics and strategies, always allowing him the opportunity to join her discussions when he felt like it. She had been the teacher he never asked for, the advisor who had aided him when he needed help most—and now she was dead, killed by Michael’s hand according to what Dean had told him.

He gave no more details besides that, but Castiel knew that there were other things that he should be pressing from Dean, should ask and demand and question until he had his answers. But the reality of Anna’s ( _Anael’s_ , his mind corrected, for she died an angel and not a human) passing weighed more in his mind, heavy and certain and ever-present and these days all that Castiel could find himself thinking about were the last words they had spoken in the warehouse, the hate that had burned in her eyes when she told him that Sam Winchester needed to die, stronger than the disappointment that flashed on her face when he had betrayed her and sold her to Heaven in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

It was all unspoken and hidden in-between words and lines, but Castiel knew the truth better than anybody; Anael’s death was his fault and nobody else’s. Anael had died because of him, and the weight of her death now bore heavily upon his shoulders. If only he had come to his senses sooner, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Dean somehow seemed to have noticed his shift in mood ever since he told Castiel the news of what had happened, because now they’re in Bobby’s house staying over the weekend and then some apparently to ‘recharge their batteries’ or something like that despite Castiel’s protests that he was not some electrical appliance that needed to be placed in a socket (he had noticed that Sam let out a snort when he said that). Bobby, of course, only snorted and called all of them idjits but allowed them to stay anyway as the cold winter winds began to settle across all of Sioux Falls.

So it came to be that Castiel found himself holed up in the kitchen of Bobby’s place, a now-cooled mug of hot chocolate in his hands as he raised his head to stare back at the disapproving glare that Dean was giving to said mug. The hunter pursed his lips in a thin line, frustration bleeding through his actions as Dean sighed and looked back at him with a frown. “C’mon, Cas, this really isn’t funny.”

“I do not see anything remotely amusing about the situation.” Anael was dead, plain and simple. Compared to that, a mug of hot chocolate that had cooled in his hands long ago hardly seemed funny at all.

In response Dean ran his fingers across his hair, sighing out loud in what very much seemed like resignation. “Never mind.” He dropped his hand after that and looked back to him, eyebrows raised. “You feeling any better? The time trip took a lot out of you.”

More than a lot, Castiel mused quietly to himself, although he didn’t say it out loud. He was nearly depleted of his energies and now after having done that, he was barely hanging onto his Grace by a thread. He could feel the hollowness inside where his Grace used to fill him up, the silence in his head where the voices of the Host used to reside in. Cut off from Heaven, left alone to fight a constant uphill battle where hope slipped by with each passing day as the Apocalypse loomed over all their heads. No, he could not feel better when he thought about all that.

Castiel looked down at his mug for a moment longer before glancing back at Dean, the expression on his face one of placid neutrality as he replied. “I am better, Dean.”

“Uh,” the human started again, clearly not quite certain what to make of his reply—Castiel knew that Dean had been expecting something else; some admission of his fading powers, perhaps, but it wasn’t as if Dean didn’t know that already. Castiel didn’t need to look up to see the forced smile that Dean put onto his face. He was the one who had held Dean’s soul under his wings and reshaped his body, had been the one being in existence to see the true extent of how the hunter had been reshaped and formed under the tortures of Hell. He knew Dean better than he knew himself these days, and the knowledge of that scared him just a bit.

The angel pulled himself away from his train of thought when he realized that Dean was staring at him, blinking back in return. The human stared for a moment longer before he sighed again and moved to sit down on the chair opposite Castiel, his own mug of chocolate thumping onto the table’s wholly scratched surface as Dean set it down. “Look, Cas, you know I’m bad at this talking thing but you’ve been really quiet since… you know.” He made a gesture then, waving his hand as if signaling something over. It hardly made any sense to Castiel, but he understood all the same what it was that Dean was trying to speak without words. Anna. Anael.

Anael—his commander, his teacher, his guide, his sister; Anael, who had been his friend and companion and closest confidant back in Heaven before she Fell and was now dead at his hands. He might not have done the true deed but he was the one who had pulled the trigger, if he had to phrase it in human terms. He started the entire chain reaction, and her death had been the result.

Dean must have noticed something in the silence—or perhaps in Castiel’s own expression, the angel knew that Dean was exceptionally perceptive at times—because the look on his face darkened for just a moment before the hunter was suddenly standing up from his seat and going over to him, a strong hand on his arm as Dean attempted to tug him up from his chair. Without thinking twice Castiel got up, the legs of his chair dragging against the floor in a tortured sound that made his ears ring even as Castiel straightened himself up and sent a questioning look towards Dean.

The hunter must have noticed it, because he quickly turned away from Castiel and grunted, already starting to make his way out of the kitchen. “This place is getting too stuffy for my tastes; let’s head outside.”

“Where are we going?” Castiel asked, perplexed by Dean’s sudden desire to be outside when the weather suggested otherwise. It would not be wise to stay out too long—he could sense the snow that was about to fall, the chill in the atmosphere formed by cold and frost.

Dean paused and turned around to look back at Castiel, regarding the angel for a moment before he snorted out loud. “Didn’t I just say it, Cas? We’re going out.”

“It would not be wise,” he replied, frowning. “The snow is about to fall.”

“…Huh.” Dean blinked at that, a strange response considering the situation, and a subtle shift crossed upon the hunter’s features. Castiel had no time to examine it though as the man turned back to speak up again. “We’ll just go to the nearby Wal-mart and grab some beer. It won’t be long.”

Knowing that he was at a disadvantage here, Castiel could only bite down a sigh and answer what Dean wanted to hear. “Of course, Dean.”

* * *

  
Half an hour later, Castiel found himself not at the nearby Wal-mart but at the outskirts of Sioux Falls, with Dean grunting as he parked the Impala and unbuckled his seat belt, getting out of the car soon after. The angel looked around, able to recognize the familiarity of their surroundings but confused as to the reason why Dean had brought them here.

A tap at the window brought him back to attention, and the angel whirled his head around to stare at a relatively unimpressed-looking Dean. The human raised an eyebrow and opened the door, casting a curious look over at the angel. “Are you gonna just sit there all night, or are you going to get out and join me?” To emphasize his point Dean raised his free hand, jiggling the six-pack he was holding.

Since sitting inside the Impala wouldn't really benefit anybody in this situation, Castiel took a moment before he got out of the car with Dean closing the door behind him once he was out. The winds had gotten cooler in the night, breezing through the many layers he had and cooling off the prickling of sweat that had been starting to form under his clothes. Dean rolled his shoulders and let out a huff, moving towards the hood of his car and settled himself on the top. Not quite certain at where this was going, Castiel blinked and tilted his head, an unspoken question directed towards Dean who caught on almost instantly.

Dean took a moment to sigh and roll his eyes in exasperation before he patted the space beside him in a gesture to join him. “Just sit here and enjoy the view, Cas. You like these kind of things, right?”

In a way, Castiel supposed that Dean was right—he had always adored his Father's creations, although by far the human before him had always been the best and brightest in his eyes. Even so broken and tattered his soul still shone brightly, the one speck of light within the darkness. He remembered his time back down in Hell, when he had torn through countless demons and monsters alike to reach out for the brilliant flare that even the shadows of Hell could not taint. It was part of what made Dean who he was, even with his many layers of humanity.

“Cas?” Dean started again, his voice pulling Castiel from his thoughts. The angel blinked once before he nodded, shuffling over to the Impala and cautiously clambering onto the car's hood; he knew how important this car was to Dean (perhaps more than ever now, considering things), and he had no desire to ruin it in any way. Goosebumps rose on his arms as Castiel laid his hands on the surface of the hood, the chill of the oncoming winter already making the metal cool to his touch. With a small grunt the angel turned around, settling properly while the ends of his overcoat flapped in the wind before they settled down likewise to hang over the edge.

Seemingly satisfied, the human snorted and fished out two cans for them both, opening one first to pass over to Castiel. The angel accepted it, taking a sip as Dean opened up his own can and did likewise. Above them the stars were glittering, twinkling quietly in the cold night sky. The silence stretched on for a long while between them, a tranquility that came by so rarely now these days with the Apocalypse hanging over their heads. Although he still wasn't certain about the reason for all of this Castiel took his chance and relished this peace, silently thanking his Father as the seconds and minutes stretched on without pause.

Of course, that peace could only last for so long; in time Dean broke it with a sudden sneeze, the force of the action nearly causing him to lose his grip on his beer. The man cursed as he fumbled it back, rubbing at his nose with the sleeve of his other arm. “Goddamnit.”

Castiel glanced over at Dean, noticing the growing redness of the other’s nose. “It would not be advisable to stay out here any longer. We should head back.” Last thing any of them needed was for Dean to develop a flu, after all. That would impede their progress thus far.

Dean only snorted and shook his head, stubbornly downing more of his beer. “S’just the cold, Cas. It won’t kill me.”

“Dean—” the angel started, attempting to protest otherwise, but the hunter swiftly shut him down with another pointed swig of his drink.

“Later, Cas,” he returned even as he hunched tighter in his spot, an instinctive reaction to the dropping temperature. “Another few more minutes, k’ay?”

Never having been able to really go against Dean’s request, Castiel could only bite back the sigh forming in his throat and nod, although he made a mental note to himself to look over Dean properly later. The hunter might be insistent on straining his body, but that didn’t mean that Castiel couldn’t do anything about it. Just as it had been in the beginning, Dean had always been his one and only priority from the moment he pulled the man’s soul out from Hell and linked them together in that moment. The proof of that lay in the handprint that was on Dean’s shoulder, marking him as the Righteous Man and as Michael’s destined vessel; a destiny that they were trying to go against now, despite all odds—a destiny that Anael had attempted and failed to sabotage.

The angel looked down at the cool can of beer in his hand and let out a small sigh, closing his eyes as he tried to suppress the swirl of emotions— _emotions_ , how human he was now—that threatened to rise up within him. Dean seemed to have noticed that something was wrong, because there was a shift next to him and suddenly Dean was closer, their bodies almost touching each other as the human nudged his elbow against his arm to get his attention. “What’s up?”

“Anna,” Castiel replied honestly, because there was no reason to lie and he wasn’t sure what to really say or do otherwise when this was all he had in mind. Beside him he felt Dean still and his breath catch just a little, and Castiel remembered that the hunter had slept with her, once. Uriel had told him that while sneering and Castiel wondered just who that sneer had truly been for; Dean, Anael, or Castiel himself? His relationship with Dean had changed immensely in the time since he came back, whole and together again even though he remembered being torn apart by Raphael’s wrath. It had been hard at first, adjusting to the world without the soul of Jimmy Novak with him (as promised, the man had been sent to rest in his Father’s place) but Dean had taught him many things since then. And this bond that they had now, this strange intimacy… it had only felt natural, after everything.

Breaking the abrupt silence, Dean shifted, the hood of the Impala creaking under his weight. The man took another drink from his can again before he lowered it down and then spoke. “She told me that you turned her in.” There was no malice in his voice, no anger—just facts and perhaps understanding, but Castiel thought that he didn’t deserve them, not really.

The angel blinked, still keeping his eyes trained on the can in his hand; it was easier to speak about this when he wasn’t looking at Dean, to not remember the fact that it was Dean who had led him down this path—a path that had been painful, but a path that he couldn’t regret. “I did.” He knew that it had been wrong, but he had done it anyway. Back then he still had been scared, had still borne the marks of what Heaven had given him when they dragged him back there, marks that he didn’t wish to see even though he still had them.

The memories were bad enough.

There was a moment of silence from Dean, and again the hunter shifted, thrumming with restless energy. He heard the man sniff and wipe his nose against the sleeve of his jacket again, finishing up his beer and tossing the can away. “That all you got to say?”

Castiel felt his shoulders sagging. “I wish I could take back what I had done to her.” Perhaps then, she would still be alive and well. Anael had deserved that much, at least.

“Michael’s a dick,” Dean instantly snorted out, “It wasn’t your fault, Cas.”

“I turned her in, as you said,” the angel pointed back in return, sounding forlorn and resigned. “She would not have suffered this fate if I hadn’t done so.”

Somehow the words only made Dean snort once more, sounding somewhere between amused and exasperated as the man nudged him in the ribs this time when he spoke. “Well, you were kind of a dick too as well then, Cas.” He paused then, and the smile was in his voice as he finished his words. “But you’re improving.”

“You helped,” Castiel returned, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. He finished up his own can of beer as well, throwing it away without a second thought and looked up towards Dean with a small smile of his own. “I would like to think that I’m better now.”

Dean laughed at that, a brilliant grin breaking across his face as he slung one arm across Castiel’s shoulders and brought them closer together, their sides pressed against each other in pleasant warmth. “Damned right you are, Cas,” he chuckled out, amusement cut short as the man sneezed once again—another sign of the impending cold.

Castiel looked up to the sky and frowned. “The weather is not adequate for you, Dean. We should return to Bobby’s.”

The human made another one of his snorts, pressing his knee against Castiel’s thigh, and Castiel couldn't help but relish in the simple warmth that the action gave him. He selfishly hooked the leg around his own, entwining their limbs. Dean gave a slight start at that, surprised by his sudden shift, but soon enough relaxed and chuckled, leaning closer towards him and quietly returned his earlier words. “I've got you, don't I?” he asked, as the hand that was on Castiel’s shoulder now slipped down to his waist, holding him even closer—this was quite undeniably what Dean would call a 'chick-flick' moment, but somehow the hunter wasn't pulling back.

Without thinking twice, Castiel replied. “Yes.” Dean would have him—Dean would always have him, so long as the human wanted to. So long as it could still be allowed. Right there and then, the angel couldn't imagine where else in the universe he would rather be but at Dean's side.

Smiling back, Dean shifted himself to better settle at Castiel's side, looking upwards at the sky for a moment before speaking. “Last time—before Mom died—” And here Castiel had to pause as realization settled within him, remembering that Dean, too, had his fair share of suffering in these events—the fact that his mother's death would still occur, his father would still grow up bitter and resented, and that in the end it would always end the way it was destined; on the ruined grounds of the cemetery in Wyoming as the armies of Hell flowed out from the Devil's Gate that had been opened before them.

 _Destiny can't be changed; all roads lead to the same destination_ —once, Castiel remembered himself having said those words to Dean. Now, though, he wants nothing more than to take those words back because they were here now, in this moment and still going, attempting to change what had been set in stone, trying to forge a new path of their own making.

“—I used to watch the snow with her,” Dean's voice drifted back to him and Castiel focused his attention on the human again, watching the way his eyes looked into the distant past of easier times as he recalled them to him. “She'd always bring me to the front yard, and we'd sit at the front step watching the sky like this until the snow started to fall.” He paused to laugh quietly, the smile on his face turning wistful. “Then later when it was Dad on the road with Sammy and me, I'd do the same for him as well—as much as we could, anyway.” Dean glanced back down, looking at his hands as he wrung them listlessly. “It just... it just feels nice, you know? Not as bad as rain, but...”

“Winter signifies the end of the cycle,” the angel spoke up, looking over at Dean and reaching out for the hunter's hands, lacing them in his own warm palms. He continued to speak as he rubbed at the frost-numbed fingers, using a bit of his Grace to warm the man up. “A time where the land sleeps and rests, preparing itself for its eventual resurrection once spring arrives.” A small smile of his own graced his face as he tightened the hold he had on Dean's hands. “It is one of the most wonderful things my Father has done.”

Dean chuckled, his breath leaving him now in wisps of steam that swiftly dissipated into the air. “So, I guess you've seen this loads of times, huh?” he asked, voice quiet even within the silent tranquility of their general area.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. But I suppose I've never had the chance to appreciate it like you do.” He stopped for a moment, blinking as an old memory drifted from the back of his head, a time when things had been simple and when his garrison had still been together. It had been—“There was one time though, when I had.”

“Huh.” The human blinked at that, curious. “When was that?”

“My first time,” he answered, eyes closing again, a small sigh escaping from his lips. “The first time I came down to Earth, it had been snowing.” At the words Dean started to shift beside him, clearly suspecting something from the angel's tone, but somehow Castiel went on speaking, finding the need to get it out even though he had no intention to in the first place. “Anael—Anna—she had been so happy playing in the snow. I remember her laughing; acting like a child even though she was my superior. Uriel, too, had been appreciative of the sight that greeted us. I had been taken in by the beauty of the sight there and then, and Balthazar mocked me for it.”

“That Balthazar guy sounds like a dick,” Dean muttered, sounding indignant on Castiel's behalf.

The angel only smiled slightly and shook his head. “He was like you, in some ways. He meant no harm in his words. He—” Castiel paused, biting his lip as he remembered the news he had received, the first one amongst his closest friends to fall. “He was a great warrior, when the time came.”

Dean frowned, quietly putting two and two together. “'Was'?”

“He is dead.” The fact came out, plain and simple, but saying it somehow made things better, just a little. “He was one of the ones slain by Uriel.” Balthazar, for all his mockery and flippancy, had always been loyal to the end. His death had been one of the greatest things that pained Castiel, even now; the angel had been a close brother to him, a companion and a friend who he had needed back in those times. Then again, Uriel had been a friend too, but in the end the other had tried to kill him.

Balthazar, dead. Uriel, dead. Anael, dead. All of his closest companions, all dead and gone without even so much as a trace of their existences left on the planes. Thinking about it now, Castiel felt the pang of solitude gnawing within him, the guilt of being the last one alive. He wanted to believe, wanted to have faith... but sometimes, it was so hard to do so.

“Hey, hey,” Dean's voice brought him out again, and the human was using his free hand to shake him by the shoulder, green eyes looking at him in concern. “No thinking about all the bad stuff now, alright? I want you to enjoy this night out.”

Castiel frowned once more, still not certain as to why they were here. “Why did you bring me here, Dean?”

The human made a face, as if he couldn't believe that Castiel still hadn't managed to figure it out. “C'mon, Cas, I just told you earlier already.”

“I do not—” the angel started, but then stopped as something soft and white drifted across his face, landing on the sleeve of his overcoat. Castiel trailed his eyes over towards the spot, blinking at the tiny patch of wetness that now dotted it.

Dean grinned and gestured up at the sky. “It's starting.”

Following the direction of the gesture, Castiel turned his head upwards towards the sky, eyes widening as he saw spots of white starting to drift down towards them, looking almost like gentle, falling stars. Snow had started to fall, the true signal of winter's beginning. Castiel watched as the snowflakes landed on them, melting off him instantly while they stuck to Dean, the hunter himself getting colder with every passing second. He shivered and sneezed, muttering curses under his breath while he wiped his clean.

Knowing that Dean would resist the idea of returning anytime soon (especially not since he had brought him all the way out here), Castiel did the next best thing that he could do—he opened his wings, stretching them out and brushing across Dean's back in the process. The hunter jerked in surprise, clearly startled at the touch, but soon relaxed as Castiel curled one of his wings around him, feathers brushing lightly against bare skin as the angel pressed Dean as close to him as possible, sheltering the human as much as he could afford.

Dean only took a few moments to recover from the initial shock, and once he had recovered the human was gazing appreciatively at Castiel's wings, noting the translucent curves that gleamed dimply under the snowfall and moonlight. “I didn't know you could bring out your wings.”

“Not wholly,” the angel returned honestly, flexing his free wing to send some of the snowflakes off their track. “It would hurt you if I had done so.”

“Too much for the human perception, huh?” Dean jibed playfully, although his gaze was still fixed on the graceful arch of the wing currently half-wrapped around him. To the human eye it was near-invisible, its shape only formed by the light playing off its surface and the faint shadows it cast across the ground. Castiel, of course, could see his own wings in their true form—the shards of light and Grace that made it up, its shine blinding to any human. These days, however, sometimes he could see the light of his wings dimming, flickering dangerously as what was left of his Grace waned. How much time he had left as an angel, Castiel had no idea—but as much as possible, he was going to cherish every last moment he still had in being one. Every moment that he could still help Dean and protect him.

Dean curled up deeper in the space of his wing, letting out a sigh of contentment; Castiel could feel Dean relaxing against him, warmed up by the contact of his Grace. He pulled closed the space, pulling in the wing deeper so that Dean could be warmer. The human's sniffling had already ceased, along with his shivering; these signs showed Castiel that he was doing something right, at least, rather than the mistakes he had been making.

Anael. Uriel. Balthazar.

“How do you handle it?” he asked out, the question falling out from his lips before he could stop it.

The human turned his head over, one eyebrow arched up as Dean asked back. “Handle what?”

Castiel looked down at his hands, fingernails digging into the fabric of his pants. “This…” he paused, gulping down the lump in his throat before continuing, “—this feeling. It claws inside of me.” At those words he raised up one hand to press against where Jimmy's heart still beat, fingers clenching around the space. “It hurts.”

Dean paused for a moment. “Shouldn't you already know?” he finally asked, his voice quiet. “I mean, last time…”

“It doesn't hurt like it does now,” Castiel admitted softly, his answer nearly lost in the silence. Back then, every loss had just been another casualty in the war, a necessary sacrifice in their battles. Up until Balthazar, he had never felt the pain of loss as keenly as he had done now¬—and that had just been the beginning. Now one year later so many more had died and had been sacrificed for a war Castiel couldn’t even bring himself to believe in any longer—a war where there were no winners or losers but only memories that held on far too strongly.

The human was silent again, and Castiel wondered if he had said something wrong when Dean suddenly moved, one hand moving to cup the back of his head. Fingers tangled in locks of hair as the hunter guided his head around so that they were looking at each other, green eyes gazing upon blue; when Dean spoke his voice was quiet, but filled with a hushed confidence that Castiel so rarely heard from him. “It hurts, Cas, it’s always gonna hurt. I know that you’ve lost a lot of people, but we have to deal with it still. Dying’s just part of how things work, y’know? So while we’re alive, we gotta live for ‘em too. Make up for what they can no longer have.” And here there was a small twist to his lips, a mockery of a smile, and Castiel knew that Dean was thinking about the irony of the words that he was saying now, the unspoken contradiction he was presenting. But it was more than that, too—in his own way, Dean was mourning over his parents who he could not save, mourning over the fact that he could not turn them away from the fate that would eventually meet them.

Perhaps it was because of that, or maybe it was something else, but regardless of the reason Castiel found his thoughts drifting, a bubble of fear rising within him as he blurted out. “I don’t know if I can do that with you.” Dean was his reason for existing, for rebelling against Heaven, for _everything_ ; if he was gone, Castiel wasn’t even sure what he could do then. Without Dean, suddenly everyday seemed so empty in his mind, his very existence.

Dean sighed in return, breathing out loudly through his nose as he dropped his hand. “You have to, Cas,” he replied, voice low and quiet and the guilt was shining through again, the feeling bleeding through his words and his expressions. “You gotta.”

“Dean—” he started, the protest already swelling up inside of him, but the hunter quickly hushed him up with a small kiss on his lips.

“No more morbid thoughts now, alright?” the man said, smiling slightly. “I brought you here to cheer you up.”

Castiel blinked at the words, the pieces finally clicking in his head; so that was what Dean had been trying to do. The angel paused for a moment before he attempted to look up at the sky and was about to ask how seeing the snow fall would cheer him up when Dean moved in and kissed him again, this time deeper and better and much more human. It only took seconds before Castiel had all but melted against him, a low mewl coming from the back of his throat as he reciprocated the action. Kissing was one of the best things about humanity, Castiel believed after the first time that Dean had kissed him. (It had been the night after they had left Raphael standing in that burning circle of holy oil; Dean got them both copious amounts of alcohol to ‘celebrate their survival’. It ended with Castiel feeling tipsy and Dean being incredibly drunk, enough that Dean drunkenly slurred a ‘I’m glad you’re not dead’ to him before the hunter pressed their lips together. It would only be weeks later when they first lay together, Dean shaking and trembling in his arms as he brokenly mumbled something about ‘five years gone’ along with countless apologies).

He was already flushed and panting by the time Dean pulled back, and Castiel stared at the hunter's lips, swollen and spit-slick just as his own were. Dean licked his lips and Castiel found himself staring at the tiny slip of pink that darted between the human's lips, suddenly wishing for nothing more than to have those lips against his once again, that tongue inside his mouth. So he leaned in and closed the distance between them once more, nipping at Dean's lips and slipping his tongue into Dean's mouth when Dean parted his lips to allow it. The sensation of tongue against tongue sent a thrill down Castiel's spine, desire and want curling low and sweet in his belly and Castiel pressed closer, overwhelmed as he was by the myriad of sensations that ran through his being, every feeling amplified by what he felt in Jimmy's senses.

Then Dean's hands shifted to brush across his wing, and an intense wave of pleasure shot through. Castiel keened, a full-body shudder running across him as he moaned into Dean's mouth, caught so off-guard by the feeling. Dean was surprised enough that he had to pause, pulling away from Castiel (much to his disappointment) and looked down at his hand resting against the giant curve of his wing, the touch nothing but gentle. Castiel followed Dean's eyes, fixated on the sight of Dean's hand on his wing, feeling the human's touch—hot and intense, with every shift of his fingers drawing out another sound from the angel.

Dean looked back up to him, eyes gleaming in amusement as a small smile stretched itself across his lips. “That felt good?” he asked, emphasizing his point by digging his fingers deeper into the wing, dragging the digits through individual feathers. Pleasure, hot and thick, coursed through Castiel, so strong and overwhelming to the point that all Castiel could do was to whimper and moan, writhing in Dean's hands as the human slowly took him apart.

“Dean,” he gasped out loud, arching closer towards Dean, wings quivering. The hunter smiled in response and delved his fingers deeper, stroking harder. The pleasure intensified, sharp jolts running up his spine that did nothing but make Castiel keen. Both of his hands were clenching around Dean's shoulders now, fingernails digging through the fabric of Dean's shirt; he could feel the heat seeping through, quickly leaving as the temperature around them continued to cool.

Too occupied by the way that Dean was touching his wing, he failed to notice how the coldness was seeping in around them until Dean was shivering once more, breaking the heat of the moment with a sneeze and his hand instinctively clenched around Castiel’s wing in a decidedly unpleasant way. Castiel let out a surprised cry at the abrupt jolt of discomfort, his wing fluttering as Dean drew back, cursing under his breath.

“Shit—” he started, hand already moving to soothe the feathers back down, massaging against the spot lightly in a wordless apology. “You okay, Cas?”

The pain had only been brief at best; as soon as Dean's hand was touching him again warmth and pleasure replaced the feeling, and Castiel made a contented sound and shifted his wing back so that the human had access to every inch. Dipping his head to nuzzle against the human's throat, the angel replied. “I am fine, Dean. Your reaction merely startled me.”

“Sorry,” the human muttered regardless, stroking Castiel's wing one more time before withdrawing. The angel made a sound of protest as Dean drew back, but was quickly pacified when the hunter kissed him, a brief, reassuring brush of their lips. “We're just not going to do it here, Cas,” Dean murmured against his mouth before pulling back again, taking the angel's hand in his own and starting to get off the Impala. “C'mon.”

Castiel nodded and tightened his hold on Dean's hand, relishing the feel of their interlaced fingers as the hunter led him around the car, opening the rear doors and gesturing for him to go in. Castiel did so and Dean followed close behind, closing the door behind him. Once they were both in and settled the human wasted no time in resuming their earlier actions, lunging towards Castiel and mashing their lips together. The angel let out a surprised sound, but quickly relented and returned the kiss, moaning low in his throat while his hands found their place at head and at the back of his neck, clutching around hair and fabric respectively. His wings were flapping uselessly against the seats, nearly impossible to see within the darkness.

Dean deepened the kiss as his hands moved to his wings, stroking them once more. It was pleasure unlike anything Castiel had ever felt, and the angel could only cry out the hunter's name brokenly, pleading for more in-between those cries as he mindlessly jerked his hips up, his hardened cock desperately seeking friction.

“This is really turning you on.” He barely registered the amused tone in Dean's voice, too caught up in the pleasure and in his need for _more_ and all that Castiel could do was to try and jerk his hips up a little more, a string of 'please, Dean, _please_ ' falling from his lips along with Dean's name. Too good—it all felt too good, and Castiel wasn't sure if he could hold on any longer, not with how Dean's hands were still buried in his wings.

“ _Dean,_ ” he breathed out the name again, and above him he heard Dean's breath hitch deliciously, the hunter's green eyes already blown with desire. Reluctantly the man pulled one of hands away from Castiel's wing to reach down between them, undoing the fly of the angel's pants with shaky hands that trembled with extreme arousal. Castiel barely had a moment to appreciate the lessening pressure around his cock before Dean started to stroke him, calloused fingers already slicked with precome. The angel could do little else but throw his head back and moan, lost to the sharp heat of pleasure that raced up his spine and spread through the rest of his body.

The human wasn't faring much better himself, palming his free hand against the hard line of his own erection and rubbing against it unconsciously. “Shit, Cas, I can't—” he choked out, hips jerking mindlessly.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, answering the question that Dean didn't manage to ask. “Yes.” Always, yes, just for Dean.

Dean let out a soft curse and instantly undid his own pants, pushing them down to his knees along with his underwear. He crawled on top of the angel, only taking a moment to kiss him soundly before he shifted their hips and ground down, rubbing their cocks together. Castiel instantly keened and arched up into the contact, the friction sending thrills shooting up from his groin and scattering across his body, the tips of his wings shivering from the intense sensation. Pressed against the velvet heat of Dean’s cock, Castiel could only think of how good and human this entire experience was, that need for contact and closeness; it was something he never had with his siblings in Heaven, who were so cold and perfect they were akin to statues.

And he, too, had been just like them once, just a mere statue that stood in the same way as his brothers and sisters. But Dean and eroded him, had worn him down, and made him alive—and now he was making him hot and needy and so, so human as he writhed and jerked under the warm, electric weight of Dean’s body, panting even though he didn’t need air. He could feel his orgasm approaching, his body tensing up as everything climbs up higher and higher, his hips stuttering wildly. “Dean, I—”

“Me too, Cas,” Dean returned, voice wrecked and sounding just as lost as Castiel himself was. “I’m going to—” And his voice faltered then, twisting into a moan as the hunter thrust his hips against Castiel one final time before he came, pleasure spilling hot and thick and messy onto his stomach. Feeling the heat spreading across his belly and seeing the expression of rapture that was upon Dean’s face was the last push that the angel needed before he came, quickly following the human over the edge as semen splattered between them, between their legs and all the way up to their chests.

Both of them shuddered through the entirety of their orgasms, and as soon as they were both done Dean slumped on top of Castiel, taking a moment to catch his breath. The angel absently noticed that the windows of the Impala had all fogged up from the heat of their act, but decided not to say anything about it as he moved to drape one arm over Dean, hand resting on the small of the hunter’s back as he relished the warmth of the other’s body.

It didn’t take long before Dean recovered, and as soon as he had his breath back Dean pushed himself up, looking down and grimacing at the ruined state of their clothes as well as his car’s upholstery. “Sammy’s gonna murder me if he sees this.”

“He won’t,” Castiel says aloud, because he knew that Dean would ensure that his ‘baby’, as he so called it, would be thoroughly cleaned later and Castiel would help him if Dean required it.

Dean paused, blinking for a moment before Castiel’s words sink into his mind and he broke into a grin, laughing. “I guess that’s true,” he chuckled out, and the angel took a moment to fully appreciate the way that Dean’s eyes lit with amusement as he said that—it was an image that he wanted to keep forever in his mind. Reaching up with one hand Castiel pressed his palm against the side of Dean’s face, smiling tentatively at the warm look that the human gave him before withdrawing and getting back up himself.

“What was that for?” Dean asked, curiosity and worry coming through his voice at the same time.

“I like it when you smile,” Castiel replied simply, because that was the truth.

The human, of course, only made a face back in return. “Dude, I told you. No chick-flick moments.”

“Sam would call this entire thing a ‘chick-flick moment’,” the angel retorted back smoothly, amusement tingeing the edges of his lips at the groan that came from Dean as the hunter buried his face into his hands.

“That’s it, man,” he mumbled into his hands, sounding utterly disappointed even though Castiel could sense that Dean did not truly mean what he had said. “No more bonding time with Sammy.”

“The time would be more wisely spent with you, then,” Castiel returned easily, still smiling.

Dean raised his head from his hands, looking over towards the angel and giving a tentative smile of his own after a few beats. “I… thanks, Cas.”

In another time Castiel would, perhaps, have elaborated more on his answer—would tell Dean, again, how he was worth it, and how there was something in him worth believing in, but now was not the time for such matters. Dean had, after all, brought them here to watch the snow and feel better, so that was what Castiel would do. Tomorrow they would properly talk about this, trade stories about Mary and John Winchester while he shares about Anael, Uriel and Balthazar; but for now he would have this moment of peace, a night of pleasant memories with Dean at his side.

Rearranging the rest of his clothes, Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand in his own, interlacing their fingers and proceeded to open the door of the Impala, greeting the sight of the snow that floated down upon them both.


End file.
